Riders of the Barren Plains, page 3
“I’ve never met him, but my business is urgent.”
The man nodded while the second man slipped backward to the corner of the building.
“I’m Patrick Carey,” the man declared finally, his voice breaking with an odd change of tone.
“Then I’m afraid I have bad news for you. You sent out a shipment of supplies to the silver miners at Bleak Point?” Cassidy had phrased his comment as a question, but Patrick didn’t respond. “It never arrived.”
Patrick rocked from foot to foot and then shrugged.
“No refunds.”
“I’m sure the miners are less concerned about a refund than getting a replacement shipment, and you should be less concerned about a refund than what’s happened to your workers.”
Patrick winced. “They can take care of themselves.”
“I hope they can, but I intend to head out to Bleak Point to see if I can find out what happened to the shipment. If you could get together a replacement set of supplies, I can ride with them.”
“We’re not exactly. . . .” Patrick frowned, and then raised a hand. “Wait here. I have to talk about this.”
He headed off to join the other man and they disappeared from view. A conversation took place. From thirty yards away Cassidy couldn’t hear what was said, but he did hear their low and urgent tones.
Patrick’s odd reaction had bemused him, but then again after riding with Samuel he’d become used to people behaving in an odd manner. Presently, Patrick returned on his own.
“Have you got a list?” he asked.
Cassidy gestured to Samuel who presented Patrick with two pages of scrawled details.
“That’s our previous order,” Samuel said.
Patrick read the list, rubbing his jaw, and then nodded.
“There’s plenty here, but we should have it ready within two hours.”
“That’s good news. Can you round up enough people to take it out to Bleak Point?”
“Nope. There’s just me and . . . me and Mike, but we’re all you need.” Patrick smiled. “We’ll deliver the supplies ourselves.”
“I sure hope this is labeled up right,” Jeff said, swinging the sack up on to his shoulder.
“Who cares?” Tex said, reading the next item on what seemed to be an endless list. “We’re not going all the way to Bleak Point.”
“I guess not.”
Jeff snorted a laugh. He’d become so absorbed with finding the required produce he’d temporarily forgotten they were engaged in a ruse to escape from the closing posse. Luckily when they’d been with Blake, Sheriff Yates hadn’t gotten close enough to see their features and, as he’d not asked any tricky questions, they assumed he believed they were who they said they were.
As coming across the body of Patrick Carey would have destroyed that belief, Jeff had tasked Cassidy and his idle companion with getting three wagons ready to leave. Tex had then taken the body away and buried it in a secluded place beyond the rise while Jeff had bumbled along locating the goods. On his return Tex was still skeptical.
“I don’t see this working, Jeff,” Tex said, for what Jeff reckoned was the fifth time.
Jeff had doubts himself, but to escape from the net that was inexorably closing on them, they just needed some luck and to maintain their disguises for a while. Then, when they’d thrown off their pursuers and before Tex killed again, he hoped a convenient excuse would present itself that would let them leave Cassidy. Jeff had explained all this before so he tried a different approach.
“Marshal McCoy is in charge of the posse now and he’s looking for bank raiders. He’s not looking for a convoy of supplies and especially not for one being escorted by the very sheriff who was chasing after us in the first place!” Jeff waited until Tex started to disagree and then spoke over him. “Whether you accept that or not, you will call me Patrick, Mike.”
Tex thought about this for a moment and then smirked and reached over to pat his back.
“All right, Patrick, I’ll go along with your plan.” He chuckled. “If it works, it’ll sure be a kick in the teeth for both lawmen.”
Jeff nodded and then turned to the door. While still chortling Tex swung a sack of corn onto his shoulder and followed. Outside, Cassidy was hitching up the last two horses. Samuel was sitting on a fence, chewing on a piece of grass and staring vacantly into space, as he had done since they’d begun work.
They dumped the sacks on the back of the third wagon and stood back, counting. Jeff ignored the first wagon where beneath several crates they’d hidden the sacks containing the proceeds of the bank raid.
“Is everything loaded?” Cassidy asked.
Jeff compared their tally to the list. They’d loaded three-quarters of what the miners had requested, but with Cassidy having completed his task, he didn’t want to draw attention to their fumbling search for the remaining items. So he accepted they had already loaded enough produce to present a realistically sized convoy.
“Yeah,” he said. “We’re ready to move on out.”
Cassidy appraised the heaped piles of produce. “Do we have enough people to do this?”
“Three wagons, four people . . . it should be enough.”
“It’ll be tiring work.” Cassidy pointed at Samuel. “And that useless waste of skin won’t be much use, but we’ll pass through Carmon, so I guess we can get help there if we need it.”
Jeff didn’t intend to stop anywhere where they could be recognized, or more likely be recognized as not being who they said they were, but to avoid delaying their departure with an unnecessary discussion, he nodded. Only then did Samuel wander over and report he’d ride his horse and let them take care of the wagons.
When Cassidy turned to him, Jeff moved back to let them resolve that brewing argument while he decided which wagon he’d prefer to drive. If he stayed with the lead wagon, he could keep close to the sacks containing the haul.
On the other hand if Tex drove it, he could keep an eye on him and watch for signs of deception. As it turned out Tex took the decision from him when he climbed up on the lead wagon without comment. Jeff noted that he’d done that and then chose the middle wagon, leaving the irritated Cassidy to take the final one.
“With this size of convoy it’ll be Carmon by mid-afternoon tomorrow,” Jeff said to Cassidy, using information he’d gleaned from the map he’d found in Patrick’s office. “Raw Creek will be another five days, and then it’s six days across the Barren Plains to Bleak Point.”
Cassidy nodded. “I hope to beat that schedule as I’ll have plenty of scouting around to do to find out what happened to the previous convoy.”
Jeff swung up onto the seat. “Do you know what happened to it?”
Cassidy jumped up onto the seat of the final wagon.
“Hopefully nothing,” he called out, “but the rumor in Raw Creek was that a bandit gang has taken refuge out in the Barren Plains. Some think they raided the convoy.”
Jeff nodded, but then the full ramifications of what Cassidy had said hit him.
“Which bandits?” he asked with mounting trepidation.
“They’ve become known as the Dark Riders and are led by Blake Kelly.” Cassidy patted his holster. “I have a score to settle with him.”
Chapter Five
“Keep looking straight ahead,” Jeff said to himself while willing Tex to do the same.
The meeting he wanted to avoid – or as he now knew the first of the difficult meetings – was imminent. Marshal McCoy was ahead. Waiting on the trail with him was five riders. Jeff narrowed his eyes, although what he’d do if he saw trouble he didn’t know as they were riding into a situation from which even Tex’s murderous appetites couldn’t extricate them.
He was surprised by how few men McCoy had with him, as he’d appeared to have many more when the posse had been closing in on them. Now that he was in a more confident frame of mind, he wondered if he had been mistaken and perhaps his guilty conscience had made it appear that everyone who had looked at them did so suspiciously.
As the lead wagon approached McCoy, the riders stayed put, making sure the convoy stopped. Jeff hoped Tex would stop as even if the marshal didn’t recognize them, riding on would raise his suspicions, but Tex carried on at the same speed so either the riders would have to move aside or he’d run them down. Jeff was wondering whether he should shout at Tex to pull up when Cassidy called out from behind.
“Howdy, Marshal McCoy,” he shouted, standing in his seat and waving. “It’s Cassidy. Move aside.”
Jeff breathed a sigh of relief when the riders parted and McCoy moved toward Cassidy. Tex shook the reins hurrying the wagons on through the gap in the riders. Trying not to draw attention on himself as he passed through, Jeff hunched down on the seat.
Cassidy pulled up behind him, but McCoy ignored Jeff and rode by. Jeff couldn’t help but smile as again his plans appeared to have fooled a lawman. Then he concentrated on enjoying the sight of the open trail ahead, something he never thought he’d see again.
“Onward to Bleak Point,” he said to himself, as he let himself imagine that he wasn’t a fleeing bank raider.
Instead he was doing what he’d wanted to do when he’d first ridden into Carmon: he was just an ordinary man doing an ordinary job.
“You’re wrong,” Marshal McCoy said. “Blake Kelly hasn’t had the time to reach the Barren Plains and to start raiding convoys. We’ve definitely fenced him in around Monotony.”
“Maybe he has and maybe he hasn’t,” Cassidy said. “All I know is a convoy of supplies has gone missing beyond Raw Creek and the rumor is that Blake was responsible.”
“We both know how rumors start. People hear about a bank raid and before long every time somebody stubs a toe Blake’s responsible.” McCoy waited until Cassidy gave a rueful nod and then pointed at the other two wagons, which were now 200 yards on and kicking up plumes of dust as they trundled away at high speed. “They’re sure in a hurry to find out the truth.”
“I can’t blame them. Patrick’s workers were with the missing convoy.”
McCoy nodded. “Then I’ll leave you to your mission, and good luck to whichever one of us finds him.”
“Before you go, can you spare anyone?” Cassidy asked without much hope, having noted the diminished number of men with McCoy.
“I’m sorry, Cassidy. Everyone is tired. Only the feeling we’re getting close is keeping us going. A journey to Bleak Point is too much to ask.”
Cassidy nodded and after bidding McCoy good fortune he moved his wagon off after the receding Patrick and Mike. Then he returned his thoughts to the problem that had worried him before.
He understood why his new companions were determined not to waste time, but he didn’t understand why Patrick didn’t want to hire more help. So he hoped Patrick would have changed his mind by the time they arrived in Carmon as it’d save him the trouble of having to change it for him.
As he gained on the second wagon, Patrick turned around and then hollered something to Mike who also turned. Then first one man and then the other bunched a fist and shook it, perhaps in a gesture of triumph.
That observation following on from their frequently sneaky behavior sent Cassidy’s mind racing. Within moments a clear idea formed – they were hiding something. As soon as he’d considered this, many minor odd incidents throughout the last day fitted into place.
Previously he’d put their shifty behavior and furtive postures down to tiredness, the natural suspicion most people had when they had goods to protect and worry about what had happened to the previous convoy. But people with an ulterior motive also acted in that way.
There were many possibilities: Patrick was overcharging the miners; the previous convoy had been a cover for trafficking something other than food; the convoy hadn’t even gone to Bleak Point in the first place.
Cassidy hoped it wasn’t the latter, but after deciding there was something odd going on, he was even more determined to stop at Carmon and hire men. As it was, when they pulled up on the edge of town and Cassidy stated his opinion Patrick wrong-footed him.
“I agree,” he said without complaint. “I’ve been thinking and a journey to Bleak Point through the bandit-infested Barren Plains is risky. We need at least another eight men.”
“I’m glad you’re now thinking that way,” Cassidy said. “Don’t worry about the cost. I have funds to cover hiring men on this type of mission.”
“I’m obliged for the offer, but these men won’t be deputies. They’ll work for me, so I’ll pay them, but if the situation calls for it I’ll let them help you.” Patrick waited until Cassidy accepted these terms. “That means we’ll head into town to do the hiring while you look after the wagons.”
Cassidy was minded to disagree with this last demand, but he guessed that Patrick would dig in his heels on matters that encroached on his command of the convoy, so he nodded. With that matter settled Mike joined Patrick to head off while for the first time that day Samuel showed some interest in what was happening.
“If they’re leaving to do some hiring, and you’re looking after the wagons, can I go into town?” he said.
Cassidy sighed with exasperation. He was minded to bark out a demand that he help for the first time. Then he thought about the long journey ahead and about Samuel’s previous comments about looking for entertainment. The only town between here and Bleak Point was Raw Creek and that wasn’t a fit place for anyone to venture into alone.
“All right, you can go,” he said.
“You only have an hour,” Patrick said, turning back to waggle a finger with a mock stern warning. “Then we’re leaving, with or without you.”
“I’m obliged,” Samuel said, grinning. “Can I have some money? I’ve only got a dollar and—”
“No, you can’t,” Patrick grunted with vehemence, his jovial mood snapping away in an instant. “A dollar is more than the likes of you deserve when you’re not prepared to do even a minute’s work.”
With Patrick flaring his eyes and Mike sneering at him, Samuel gulped, tipped his hat to Cassidy and then slunk off into town.
“You were harsh on him there,” Cassidy said.
“Somebody needs to be,” Patrick said, as the young man sped to a trot as the lure of the big town drew him on. “Are you sure about letting him go?”
“Yeah,” Cassidy said. “I mean, how much trouble can he get into in an hour?”
Chapter Six
“This is a bad idea,” Tex grumbled as he approached the first saloon on the main drag.
“Quit worrying,” Jeff said. “Nobody saw our faces when we were here before and even if they did, nobody would expect us to walk back into town.”
“I didn’t mean coming into town, I meant the hiring part. We don’t need anyone. We’re not going to Bleak Point, remember.”
Jeff halted and drew Tex around to face him. “We have to appear that we are. Marshal McCoy chased us for weeks, but when he met us he thought we were looking after the convoy and didn’t give us a second glance. The disguise works. Now we just have to leave the convoy before we meet Blake and without making Cassidy suspicious. If we have more men looking after the supplies, it’ll be easier to find a reason.”
Tex sneered. “It’d be easier to slash his throat.”
Jeff winced as Tex mentioned the biggest reason why he wanted to hire men: avoiding the death-toll growing any higher.
“It won’t,” Jeff said, choosing a retort that Tex might accept. “Cassidy’s a formidable lawman. You’re more likely to get yourself killed.”
Tex nodded. “All right, we hire men and keep up this nonsense until Raw Creek, but no farther, and only provided we can find someone for hire who doesn’t know Patrick Carey.”
Tex’s traditional gloomy forecast made Jeff smile, but thirty minutes and four saloons later he was no longer smiling. In each saloon they had asked about Patrick and everyone had known and had wanted to talk about him.
Apparently before he’d taken over at the depot he’d worked in Carmon and nobody had a good word to say about him. As they walked toward the final saloon on the main drag, desperation had overcome Jeff’s contented mood. Even worse, he’d met Blake in this saloon and he didn’t want to risk going somewhere where he might be recognized.
“Perhaps you were right,” he said.
Tex grunted. “I’m glad you’ve finally admitted that, but I’ve been thinking. Perhaps we’re looking in the wrong places.”
He set off for a side alleyway. Jeff was so pleased that Tex was showing an interest in maintaining their cover that he didn’t complain, although he was minded to when he found out what he had in mind.
Away from the main drag and the brightly-lit saloons, like all towns, Carmon had the kind of establishments that were so dingy even Jeff wouldn’t have frequented them before his life had taken a major change. Tex had no such qualms and he headed for a dimly lit ramshackle building on the edge of town.
He walked in, appraised the blank-eyed men nursing glasses on their own, and then slammed a discarded glass on the bar gathering the attention of the men who weren’t asleep or too drunk to respond.
“Who knows Patrick Carey?” he demanded.
Nobody replied, although a few men grunted at him to be quiet.
“Has anyone ever met him?” he persisted.
This time a man from down the bar raised his head to sneer.
“I’ve heard he pays the lowest wages around. Nobody will work for him.”
“Somebody always will,” Tex said, but the man waved in a dismissive manner at him and returned to his drink.
Tex snorted, his hunched shoulders suggesting he was ready to start an argument, but Jeff tapped his arm and then drew his attention to a new man who was wending his way toward them. His clothing was as tattered as Jeff’s had been three weeks ago and Jeff recognized the despair in his eyes.
“Are you hiring?” the man asked.
“We are, but only. . . .” Jeff pondered, choosing his words carefully. “We only want people who haven’t worked for Patrick Carey before.”
